The Devoted
by Shadow Milotic
Summary: Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye have a deep and meaningful relationship based on trust. However, such a tight bond does not develop overnight. It took time to get to the point they are now. Let me tell you that story... Royai. Rated T to be on the safe side.
1. Prologue

**AN: So. After what feels like a century, I have finally gotten around to writing once again. With the recent conclusion of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga series, I have found two new muses for my writing, namely Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. It seems in every fandom I develop an obsession with, there's always a pair of characters who catch my interest moreso than the others. Roy and Riza have a long and complicated history together, which I plan on telling in my own way. I'm sure this has probably been done a million times before, but, what the hell, I'll put my own spin on this tale. This story will begin with Roy's introduction to the Hawkeyes and continue on from there. The POV will vary depending on which character I get an idea for as I go along. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. It is the brainchild of a much more creative woman than I. I am merely borrowing the characters for a while, and will return them (relatively) unharmed. **

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The bar was unusually quiet tonight. Only a single group of people surrounded one of the many tables, watched over by a cluster of women who sat, giggling amongst themselves, on the couches in the corner. The stench of cigarette smoke was thick in the air. The offending culprit was hanging out of the mouth of the heavyset woman manning the bar. She reached under the counter and grabbed a shot glass, filling it with whisky before sitting it in front of the aged man before her.

"My thanks, Madame," he smiled, pushing some coins her way as he took the drink.

Chris grunted in reply and swiped the money from the counter, dumping them in the till. At that moment, a loud crash interrupted the laughter of the women in the corner. Broken glass and alcohol littered the floor, and the man who had dropped his drink stumbled against the counter.

"Whoops!" He laughed drunkenly, before turning his attention to the gruff woman. "Gimme anothah one, Madame!"

"No," Chris replied. "You've had more than enough. I think it's time you went home."

"Nah, I'm good fo ah few moah rounds." The man banged his fist on the bar. "Hit me, woman."

"Don't tempt me," she responded dryly. "I may just take you up on that."

"Whatchu sayin?" His hands gripped the counter tightly, as though he needed to hold onto it to keep himself upright; no doubt he really did. "Jus gimme anothah drink."

"No."

"C'mon I wannanothah drink. Mah money not good enough for ya?"

"There's nothing wrong with your money," the woman replied. "I just don't want to have to clean up the mess when you break another glass, or start puking."

Finally, one of the women hurried over and grabbed the man by the arm. "Come on, Geoffrey, leave it be. As she said, you've had enough. I'll take you home if you don't make a scene."

He leered at her. "Jus an walk home, eh?"

"Just a walk," the woman replied. "I'm off for tonight."

"Eh, none of you are any fun…" the man mumbled as she led him out the door. "I'll be back, Madame!"

"Unfortunately…" Chris sighed, and put out her cigarette, looking around at her girls. "Somebody go and fetch Roy."

One of the younger women, Isabelle, her name was, immediately got to her feet and dashed up the stairs. She wished she could say it was her intimidating demeanour that made the girl so quick on her feet, but that wasn't the case. Her nephew, Roy Mustang, was growing up to be quite the handsome young gentleman. He was only a young teen, but already his respectful demeanour and somewhat impressive confidence made girls swoon. Since the death of his parents when he was young, Chris had been raising him here in East City; as a result, he was constantly in the company of attractive older women. Chris knew that he would soon become interested in the baser pleasures of life, (his surroundings were enough of an influence, she was surprised he hadn't started already) and as such, she had already taken precautions. She decided to drill the importance of honesty into his head. She didn't want her Roy-boy to be one of _those_ men who tricked women into bed, simply because they enjoyed sex and had the looks and charm to do so. She told him to never make false promises that he didn't intend to keep, explaining in explicit detail exactly _what_ she would do to him if she ever heard (and she _would_ hear if it happened) that he'd been going around breaking hearts. By the time she had finished talking to him, he'd developed a bad case of the shakes and hadn't slept for nearly a week afterward.

"Busy night tonight, Madame Christmas?" The man sitting before her broke into her musings.

"Not at all. I may suffer from the lack of revenue." Chris leaned on the counter and glanced over at him. "What are you doing here anyway, you old pervert? I thought you were working in Central. This is the third time I've seen you this week."

"Ah, well, as of last week, I've been assigned as the Commanding General of the Eastern Area." He downed his drink and sat down the empty glass. "I thought it would be nice to get to know some of your gorgeous ladies as long as I'm going to be in East City. This place has quite the reputation around here, you know?" His moustache twitched as he offered her a sly smile. "I've heard talk that what goes on in the City is best known at the Madame's place."

Chris shrugged. "My girls get around. They hear what's been said. Sometimes, they're willing to share, if you ask nicely. A lot of it is just pointless gossip that nobody is really interested in."

"But not all." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sometimes cases are wrapped up by a tiny bit of information from the most unlikely source. An old man notices some hooligans loitering in the wrong place. A young woman spots a friend walking off with a man she doesn't know. And sometimes they notice important things that you wouldn't expect. The common people are a lot more observant than those in power give them credit for. Such gossip may be deemed as insignificant by most, but I think it's wiser to listen to them."

Chris drummed her manicured nails on the countertop. "Perhaps my girls might be willing to share what they see and hear with a little bit of 'incentive'."

He broke into a wide smile. "Then perhaps I should make this place a regular stop in my schedule from now on."

"Perhaps…" Chris trailed off as footsteps resounded on the stairs. Her nephew descended, closely followed by a sulky Isabelle. He had no doubt been studying his Alchemy again. When he did, he tended to pay less attention to the outside world, including flirtatious girls, hence the sullen young woman who was returning to the corner with the others. Carefully avoiding the mess on the floor, he made his way over to the bar.

"You wanted to see me?"

"That's right." Chris pointed to the broken glass. "Can you do something about that? I'd rather not have to pay for new ones every time one gets broken."

He bent down and examined the mess before looking back up at her. "I can fix the glass for sure. I think the alcohol is beyond recovery though." Taking out a stick of chalk, he began to draw a circle around it.

"Ahhh…" Leaning forward from his seat, the old man watched the boy with interest. "You know Alchemy, young man?"

"Yes, sir," Roy replied, shooting a questioning glance at his aunt.

"Roy-boy, this is Lieutenant General Grumman." She gestured to the man sitting at the bar. "He's the commanding General of East City Headquarters. General Grumman, this is my nephew and foster son, Roy Mustang."

Rising from his crouch, Roy offered him a formal salute. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"Likewise," he replied. He watched as the boy placed his hands on the circle, activating it. Blue light flashed, and the shattered pieces on the floor re-formed into a proper glass, which Roy picked up and showed off triumphantly.

"Thanks, Roy-boy," Chris said as he placed it on the counter.

"Impressive," Grumman remarked, studying the glass. "Where have you learnt this from, young man?"

"Alchemy texts, sir." Roy picked up a cloth from the bar, and used it to wipe the chalk and alcohol from the floor. "I've been studying them in my spare time."

"You haven't had proper instruction then?" Grumman asked as Roy finished cleaning the floor, and went behind the bar to rinse the cloth in the sink. "You should find yourself a teacher. It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste."

"I want to learn more, sir." Roy straightened, and faced the older man seriously. "One day I want to join the military to do what I can for the people of my country. I feel I could do so much more if I were a State Alchemist. I've heard the State evaluation for Alchemists is extremely difficult. I'm well aware that I wouldn't be able to pass without proper instruction. I would like to improve my knowledge, and for that I need a teacher."

Grumman laughed jovially at the boy's earnestness. "You certainly are determined, aren't you?"

"That's my Roy-boy." Chris put a hand on her nephew's shoulder. "I'm expecting big things from him. We've looked around the city, but we haven't been able to find him a teacher yet. Worst-case scenario, I might have to send him off to Central… I don't suppose you know of any good Alchemists in the city, do you?"

"Good Alchemists in the city…?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, I'm afraid not. Though I think I may be able to offer an alternative solution."

"Alternative?" Chris asked, glancing down at the hopeful boy beside her. "By all means, let's hear it."

"I do know of a talented Alchemist who lives in a country town a few hours away from here," he replied. "I can give you his address. His name his Berthold Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye?" She frowned. "I haven't heard the name before."

"He's something of a recluse," Grumman replied, smiling bitterly. "But he is _very_ talented and devoted to his work. I would give you a phone number, but I can't guarantee that you'll be able to reach him that way. You will have to visit, and talk to him directly. Even then, convincing him to teach the boy may prove difficult. He can be rather tenacious at times."

"You leave that to me." Chris picked up a pad of paper and a pencil and sat them in front of him. "If I can get him to take Roy as his apprentice, it will be one less thing to worry about. I can be stubborn too. Give me the address."

Picking up the utensil, he moved to write it down. But as the pencil touched the paper, he paused, and looked back up at her. "It would… Probably be for the best if you didn't mention me when you see him."

"Oh?" Chris smirked at him. "You don't get along?"

"Something like that…" He scribbled across the paper and handed it back to her. "Rather, he doesn't like me. I don't dislike the man as such. He's just a bit… Hard to deal with…"

"And why does _he_ dislike _you_?"

The man laughed, and got to his feet. "Now, now, that's a story for another day. I'm glad we could reach an understanding today, Madame. I'll take my leave, and I hope for your success."

"I'll see you again sometime, I'm sure."

Roy saluted the man once again. "Thank you for the assistance, sir. I really appreciate it."

Grumman chuckled and waved on his way to the door. "Don't thank me just yet! Do it later, once you've been taught! It was nice to meet you, young man!"

With that, he was gone. Chris looked at the paper in her hand thoughtfully. "I'll go visit this man tomorrow. With luck, he'll agree to take you on, Roy-boy."

"Yeah." The teen grinned up at her. "I'm going to go and study some more!" he declared, turning and racing up the stairs two at a time.

Chris shook her head at the boy's enthusiasm, before turning her attention to the girls lingering in the corner. "Charlotte!"

One of the women, a tall, busty redhead, got to her feet. "Yes, Madame?"

"I'm going to need you to watch the place tomorrow. I have a train to catch."

XxX

Chris Mustang stared at the house in front of her for a moment, then looked at the address on the gate, checking it against the paper she held. It was the same. She was beginning to think that Grumman had tricked her, because _this_ was not she had expected of the house of a supposed master Alchemist. The house itself could not really be called a house; _manor_ might've been a more appropriate word. _That_, she had been expecting. She had _not_ expected, however, the paint to be flaking from the walls, and the signs of deterioration in several places; no doubt the result of damp. The grass within the yard was untouched, and what had probably once been a garden was now overgrown with weeds. Grass poked out from between the cobblestones that made a path to the front door. As she dubiously pushed open the iron gate, it screeched painfully in protest, signifying that it had been a long time since it had last received a good oiling. She had thought that an Alchemist's residence would have been better maintained.

_I doubt anyone even lives here…_ she thought bitterly as she pounded briskly on the door. _It looks too untouched. Perhaps that Hawkeye fellow has died, and no one noticed, or wanted to buy the house. If someone lived here, surely they'd keep the place in better condition. Or maybe Grumman lied about an Alchemist living here… If that old perv has pulled a fast one on me, I'm going to dump his rotting corpse in the river; I don't care WHAT he's the Commanding General of!_

Much to her surprise, the door opened after a few moments. Looking straight ahead to greet the adult she had expected, she had to look down considerably to meet the eyes the child who had answered her summons.

"Yes?" the girl asked cautiously.

"Uh…" Here was another thing she had not been expecting. Grumman had claimed this Hawkeye man was a loner, so she had suspected he would live by himself. The young girl couldn't be older than ten or so. She was dressed sensibly for her age in a long-sleeved shirt and calf-length skirt. Her blonde hair was cut short, which made her amber eyes stand out considerably. Those eyes watched her with suspicion as she laboured to find something to say.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked as Chris was lost for words.

"Yeah…" she replied, relieved to get straight to the point. "I'm looking for a man named Berthold Hawkeye. I was told that he lives here."

"He does," the girl said bluntly. There was a long pause as the child didn't elaborate or invite her inside.

"…I'm here to speak with him," she prodded finally. "Is he busy?"

"He's always busy." The girl opened the door a bit wider, though there was still some hesitancy in her manner. "Does he… Know that you're coming?"

"No. He doesn't. But I heard he was a talented Alchemist. I want him to teach my nephew."

The girl looked back over her shoulder for a moment before facing Chris once again. "I'll go see if he'll meet with you. Please, come in."

Chris followed her inside. After telling her to wait, the girl walked up the stairs, leaving Chris standing alone in the hall. She took the time to look around at the inside of the house. Compared to the state of the yard outside, it was surprisingly clean. The only hints that the property was neglected in any way were the cobwebs hanging from the roof; too high to reach, probably. An open door on the left led to the living room and another to the kitchen; the doors on the right were closed. Everything she could see was drab and simple in contrast to other houses she had seen that were this large. The light tap of shoes alerted her to the return of the young girl.

"Father will see you," she said simply.

Chris followed her up the stairs. So this girl was the man's daughter then? Of course, what else would she be? Well, she could have been a student, perhaps. But if the man had a daughter, perhaps he wasn't as much of a nutter as Grumman had made him out to be. The Hawkeye girl led her off to a door on the right and knocked gently before opening the door and gesturing for her to go inside. As she did so, she glanced around the room. Bookshelves lined all four walls; every one was filled with books and scrolls. There were also several piles of books on the floor, probably because they wouldn't fit anywhere else. The man she assumed was Berthold Hawkeye sat at the lone desk in the room, scribbling on a sheet of paper. She walked over and stopped in front of the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge her. Much to her irritation, he continued to write.

"Berthold Hawkeye?" she asked formally. He ignored her, still working away on the page in front of him. Normally such blatant rudeness would result in her giving the man a good tongue-lashing, but she refused to lose her temper. She didn't want to spoil Roy's chances of getting a decent teacher. Taking in a breath, she continued. "My name is Chris Mustang. I came here from East City to ask you to take my nephew as your apprentice."

The man finished what he was writing, sitting his pen down carefully as he looked up at her. His gaze was sharp and focused, much like the bird he was named after. "Why should I bother attempting to teach Alchemy to yet another ungrateful brat?" he demanded. "They come in, all conceited, saying they want to learn, then give up when they realise that it requires _work_. They think they can just draw a circle and get results. They don't want to know about the required studying, let alone take the time to actually do it."

"My Roy is not ungrateful," she replied evenly. "He genuinely wants to learn. He's at his books every day, so I know he's willing to do the legwork. He would not waste your time."

"And I should accept your word on this, should I? That your boy is so different from the usual rabble?"

"You could…" Chris crossed her arms over her chest as she looked down at him. She didn't really like the man's automatic presumption that she was wasting his time, but he really was her best chance of getting Roy a teacher. If she had to kiss his ass to ensure her boy was taught properly, she would. "Or you could meet him and decide for yourself. If you don't think he's capable, then reject him, and I'll apologise for wasting your time. But if you think he may have some talent, then take him on. That's all I ask."

He stared up at her for a few seconds before letting out a harsh bark of laughter. "Very well," he said, smiling darkly. "Bring the boy to me next week, and I'll make my assessment. If he proves competent and willing, I will teach him everything I know. But if I find him lacking, then I don't want to be bothered by either of you again. Is this acceptable?"

"Fine," Chris agreed.

The man retrieved his pen and returned to his work. "I will see you and the boy next week then. Riza will show you out, Miss Mustang."

It was a rather obvious dismissal. Biting back a scathing reply, she turned around and walked over to the doorway where the young girl, Riza, was standing. "Very well. I'll be back then." The man did not reply any further.

_Grumman was right…_ Chris thought to herself. _That man doesn't like having people around._ She looked down at Riza. _But he has a daughter, so I suppose he can't have always been like this._

"You live here with just your father?" she asked as the girl walked her back down the hall.

"Yes."

"Don't you have a mother?" Though from the state of the yard and the man who was locked away in his study, she doubted it. The sad twist of the girl's mouth confirmed her suspicion.

"My mother died a few years ago."

"Ah… I'm sorry to hear that." They stopped at the door, and Chris offered the girl a hand, which she shyly took. "I will see you again next week, Riza Hawkeye."

As she walked out the creaky iron gate, Chris turned and looked back. The young girl was still standing in the open doorway, watching her.

_It's probably lonely for her in that house._ Chris thought as she waved goodbye to the girl, who returned the gesture hesitantly. _Her father doesn't seem like he's interested in anything but his work. I suppose, at the very least, if the man takes Roy on, she might have a bit more company. _

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**Well, please let me know what you think with that review button! Constructive criticism is welcome. Pointless flames will be ignored.**


	2. Worlds Converged

**AN: …I had meant for this chapter to come out a little earlier, but I was a bit slow in writing it as I tend to write down ideas as they jump into my head… Meaning I got distracted when I was writing, because I was coming up with ideas for future chapters. Eventually, however, I managed to sit myself down, and write out this chapter out in its entirety so I had something I could post. Anyway, thank you to those who took the time to review the first chapter. I appreciate your kind words. And now, here is chapter two!**

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As the train started slowing down, Roy shifted nervously in his seat. Looking out the window, he could see the small station where it would soon come to a halt, and when it did, he would be free to get out and meet the man he hoped would teach him Alchemy. His aunt had given him the details of her encounter with Master Hawkeye, stating that the man wanted to test him before agreeing to teach him. And she went on to say that he was somewhat of a jerk, though admitted he seemed very committed to his work and would probably make an excellent teacher. That was the part that mattered to Roy the most; he wanted a teacher who would expand on and complete his knowledge. He didn't particularly care if the man made him start from the very beginning, so long as he learned more than he knew now, which was mainly just knowledge that he could apply to helping his aunt out around the bar. Focusing on his reflection in the window, he took careful note of his appearance; his neat attire, determined dark eyes… And his short, untidy, black hair. Scowling, he tried unsuccessfully to pat it down.

"I don't think it's going to stay," his aunt commented as she watched him.

"I know," the boy sighed, his hands falling back down to his sides. "But there's no harm in trying. I should've slicked it back or something. I want to make a good impression."

She ran her own hand over his head. "That man didn't really seem too concerned with his own personal grooming, so why should he bother about yours? In fact, perhaps he might take it badly if you present yourself too neat…" With that thought in mind, she brutally mussed up his hair.

"Okay, okay!" Grumbling, he shoved her hand away. "Stop it!" He vainly attempted to comb his hair back into some kind of pseudo-neatness with his fingers while she chuckled. The train finally screeched to a halt and butterflies started dancing in his stomach anxiously. Though on the outside, he appeared rather composed, on the inside, he was a mess of nerves. He didn't want to fail Master Hawkeye's evaluation and have to go looking for another teacher. It had been hard enough to actually _find_ someone who had enough knowledge to teach. If he failed here, he would have to attempt to search out another mentor, and who knew how long that would take? He had a chance, here and now, and he couldn't afford to fail. No… He _wouldn't_ fail.

"I'm sure however you present yourself will be fine," his aunt remarked. "He'll probably be more concerned about your capabilities than how good you look." She paused. "At least, I hope so. He seems like that sort of man, anyway. The type that couldn't give a damn what you look like, as long as you can do what he asks of you."

"And I will," Roy replied. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, imagining his anxiety being expelled from his body by his breath. He met her eyes determinedly, feeling much calmer. "I'm going to make an impression!"

"I'm afraid that's exactly what you're going to have to do, Roy-boy. That man didn't seem like the type that's easily impressed. You've got your work cut out for you." She rose from her seat as the other train passengers were beginning to disembark, and he hurriedly did the same. "So don't screw it up."

"…It's nice to know you have so much faith in me," he muttered sarcastically. They got off the train together.

"I do have faith in you, Roy," she said kindly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But you can't afford to appear too complacent, as I'm afraid he might end up mistaking that for arrogance. Neither can you let him know how nervous you really are; he will probably see it as a weakness. Just be that sincere, firm, hardworking lad that you are. I just know he's floating around in you somewhere…"

"Ha." Of course she had to follow up her compassion with a joke at his expense. She did that a lot, but he had gotten used to it. He had been young when his parents had been killed in the train accident, and she had taken him into her home with no complaints and done her best to raise him herself. (Although her workers had often helped out when she was busy. Many of the older women fondly referred to him as their little brother.) Though she was stern and gruff with him a lot, he understood that she acted that way because that was the sort of woman she was, and it was the way she showed her affection. Though she only showed it openly in brief, private moments, like this one, he knew that she did love him and wanted to see him succeed in the life he had chosen. "I'll be careful, I promise."

"Good. Now, let's get going." She led him down the road and away from the station, into the town. The countryside out here, like most of the East, was rural area. Nearby paddocks were filled with grazing sheep and cattle, and it wasn't unusual to see people out with them, feeding the beasts or repairing fences. The few people they spotted on the road as they walked into the town were friendly, calling greetings, waving, or nodding as they passed. This place was smaller than East City, but its people were just as friendly. There were more people out and about in the depths of the town, but they were no less amiable. When Roy and his aunt finally came to a halt, it was in front of the house she told him belonged to Master Hawkeye.

She looked down at him. "Are you ready?"

Roy drew in another deep breath to calm himself. "Yes," he replied. "Let's do it." He pushed open the gate and she followed him down the path to the door. He took another second to prepare himself mentally, steeling himself for the task ahead, before knocking briskly. The door opened almost immediately to reveal a man of average height with dirty blond hair and sharp, critical eyes. He glared down at the boy.

"You're late," he growled. Roy looked up at his aunt, not having been aware that they were on some sort of schedule. Judging from her scowl, she had no idea either. "Come in, quickly!" The man turned around and walked off into the living room, leaving them standing at the door.

"Well…" His aunt ushered him forward, closing the door behind them. "Show him what you can do, Roy-boy." Roy went after Master Hawkeye into the living room. The man was seated on one of the couches, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm. The low table in front of him had several books sitting on it. Roy stood on the other side of the table in front of the man, and his aunt stopped in the door, leaning back against the doorframe to watch.

"Sit," Master Hawkeye ordered. Roy obeyed, seating himself on the couch across from the man. He was going to be taking instructions from him if he had his way anyway. It was unlikely Master Hawkeye would change his abrupt behaviour at all if he _did_ accept him. He would just have to get used to it. The man across from him eyed him intently from head to toe. Roy resisted the urge to let his hands wander back up to tend to his hair again, instead linking his fingers together and sitting them in his lap. He met Master Hawkeye's eyes attentively. The man's silent staring unnerved him somewhat, but he wasn't going to let him know that.

"What was your name, boy?" Master Hawkeye asked finally.

"Roy. Roy Mustang, sir."

"So… You want to be an Alchemist, Roy?"

"Yes sir."

"Why is that?"

Roy straightened in his seat. "I want to help people, sir."

"Why Alchemy? There are plenty of different ways you can be helpful to people. Why did you decide to start practicing Alchemy?"

Roy considered this for a moment, before answering. "Because I find it interesting. Learning about the make-up of different things… And applying that knowledge to breakdown and reshape them… The way Alchemy works is fascinating. And there are many different ways you can use Alchemy to benefit people's lives. I don't know much at the moment, but I want to change that. I know that it's not easy, and it's going to take time. But this is what I want to do."

Master Hawkeye seemed to think about his answer briefly, though it was impossible to tell if he approved or not. "What have you put into practice before?"

"I've transmuted glass, and wood. My aunt runs a bar in the city, and sometimes when the customers get a little too drunk they become clumsy or aggressive and break things. I wanted to study things that I could use to help her out."

"Hmm…" The man stood abruptly. "Come with me." He walked out the door around his aunt and Roy followed him into the kitchen. Striding over to one of the cupboards, he opened it, reaching in and pulling out a glass. It was a fairly simple design; the glass itself was plain, and the handle was thick, and shaped like a bird. The tail of the bird was fused with the base of the glass and its talons gripped just above that. The wings were tucked into its body and it gripped the top of glass with its beak. Master Hawkeye held the glass for a moment, weighing it in his hand, and in a sudden, violent motion, threw it on the floor. There was a loud smash as it broke. Producing a stick of chalk from one of his pockets, he held it out to Roy. "Fix that for me."

Roy took the chalk from him, unnerved by the unexpected display. "Just… Here on the floor sir?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "It will be cleaned up later. Do it."

Roy did as he was asked, sinking down to the floor, drawing his circle around the broken fragments and activating it, reforming the glass as he remembered it. When he was done, Master Hawkeye bent down and retrieved the finished product.

"Almost exactly like it was before…" the man muttered distractedly as he examined it. "You're very observant." He handed the glass back to Roy. "Change it into something different."

"Anything particular, sir?"

"Whatever comes to mind."

Roy thought for a moment, before sitting the glass back in the centre of the circle and changing a few of the symbols. He activated the circle again to change the glass. It flowed together into a solid mass, and from there, he re-shaped it into the form of his choosing. When he was done, he examined his handiwork. It was a dragon. Its head was thrown up into the air in a triumphant roar, flames billowing from its mouth. The delicate wings stretched out on either side of its body; its forelegs were extended, clawing the air. The long tail formed a circle around the body near the feet, the end joining back up near the base. One of the hind legs rested on the length of the tail in front of it, and the other supported in between its mate and the base of the tail, raised slightly on its toes. Roy picked up his creation and offered it to the man.

Master Hawkeye accepted the dragon from him. "Interesting…" He tapped the creature's tail lightly. "You positioned the tail and feet like that to form a solid base for the piece so it would compensate for the weight of the wings and flame?"

"Yes sir."

"Having the foresight to consider a problem like that beforehand is good." He held the dragon up to the light, twisting it around to examine each facet closely. "It could be more detailed, but it's a good effort nonetheless." He sat the dragon down on the table and turned his attention to Roy once more. "Let us attempt something else."

It continued on for about an hour, and they eventually ended up back in the living room. Master Hawkeye mainly drilled him with questions about his knowledge of Alchemy and, thankfully, didn't break anything else. Roy answered to the best of his ability. The way the man rapid-fired his questions was mildly overwhelming, but Roy kept his cool. If he had to think about an answer for a few moments, Master Hawkeye would urge him to hurry up and respond, making him feel a little flustered, but he didn't trip up when he replied. The man also wanted to see him work with wood, pulling an intricately carved wooden sculpture off of a shelf and giving it to Roy to work with. As he complied, Roy couldn't help but feel he was probably destroying what had once been someone's prized family heirloom. But if that were the case, then Master Hawkeye probably wouldn't have given it to him to use, right?

"I think we're just about done here," Master Hawkeye said finally.

Roy resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. "Was there something else you wanted me to do, sir?"

"There's just one more thing." Master Hawkeye reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone. It was shaped like an oval, smooth and polished, coloured black, with faint streaks of white showing like ghostly apparitions. He held it out to Roy who took it obediently. "Transmute this. It does not matter what you make it into, I just want to see what you do with it."

Roy stared at the stone is his hand, his mouth dry. He had never seen a stone like this before in his life. He had no idea what it was made out of. Would it be wise to admit as such to Master Hawkeye, or should he attempt Transmutation anyway and risk something going terribly wrong? If he admitted that he couldn't do what he asked of him, would Master Hawkeye refuse to teach him? He felt he had done so well thus far; he had answered all of the questions that had been put to him satisfactorily, and his attempts at transmutation had produced reasonable results as well. He had felt like he was on a roll, and nothing could bring him down. Nothing but the dark stone that sat in the palm of his hand. But if he attempted to transmute it, and failed, wouldn't he look like an even bigger fool than if he admitted that he couldn't do it? Master Hawkeye's piercing gaze as he waited was only making him feel worse.

Roy finally offered the stone back to the man, common sense outweighing his pride. "I'm sorry. I can't."

His eyebrows snapped together. "Why not?"

"I… I don't know what it's made of… I'm sorry."

The man stared at him for a moment before putting a hand over his face. Roy's heart sank. Had he just ruined his chance of being taught? Then Master Hawkeye began laughing lightly, shaking his head. He gestured for Roy to hand him the stone, and he complied. "Yes, you are quite correct. Only an idiot would attempt transmutation on an item he doesn't know the composition of." He held the stone between his fingers. "This stone is Agate. But we'll have to leave its composition for another time."

"Another time?"

"That's right." He slipped the stone back into his pocket. "If you're going to be my apprentice, then you'll have to come back, won't you? I'm thinking it will be convenient if you visit on the weekends. That way, giving you instruction won't interfere with my own research too much. Yes… Report to me on Fridays. I'll take you on the weekends, and you can return home on the Mondays. Does that sound satisfactory?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Stop calling me sir. I'm your Master now. Address me as such."

"Yes, Master," Roy responded immediately.

"So you'll teach him then?" His aunt piped up from her observation point.

"Did I not just say that?" Master Hawkeye asked irritably. "Yes, the boy has talent and potential. Enough, perhaps, to be a capable Alchemist. I have agreed to teach him. Isn't that what you wanted?" He turned back to the boy. "Report to me on Friday. I will see you again then."

"Thank you for the opportunity master! I won't disappoint you!"

"Yes, yes," the man grumbled as he stood. "I'm sure you'll do your best. Now, I have other things to attend to." With that, he walked out of the room, leaving them alone.

"I think we're supposed to show ourselves out," his aunt muttered. "Let's go, Roy-boy." They left the room also, to see Master Hawkeye ascending the stairs. Standing on the landing above, was a young blonde girl; the man's daughter, no doubt. His aunt had briefly mentioned her when recounting her previous visit.

When Master Hawkeye reached the landing, he paused, looking down at his daughter. "Roy Mustang is going to be staying with us on the weekends. Could you prepare one of the spare rooms for him?"

"Yes, father," she replied in a quiet voice.

"Thank you." He continued down the hall and there was a muffled thud as he closed the door to his study behind him.

The girl at the head of the stairs turned around and looked down at Roy as he stared up at her. It was… Just as bad as being scrutinised by Master Hawkeye, he decided. Though there was decidedly more curiosity on her face as she made her own silent appraisal of him, and less wariness. But the overall intensity of her gaze was the same. He couldn't help but wonder if it was perhaps a requirement for having the last name 'Hawkeye'. The birds themselves were known for their sharp eyes – a trait that seemed to run in the Hawkeye family. What had his aunt said her name was…? Riza… That was it. Riza broke the staring contest rather abruptly, turning around and walking in the opposite direction of her father. The sound of another door closing echoed downstairs.

"C'mon, Roy," his aunt called from the door. "Let's go. You'll be back here soon enough."

"Yeah…" Roy turned back to his aunt, hope filling his heart. "I will, won't I?" He smiled to himself. He finally had a teacher. He felt like he was moving forward, one great big step at a time.

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**If you made the effort to read this far, please review! Constructive criticism is welcome!**


	3. Outside Looking In

**AN: Ah, November the 29th. How I long for thee… You can't arrive soon enough... Ahem. So sorry this took a while, everyone. When I don't get any reviews, I tend to be less motivated to write. Anyway… Thanks to those who at least put this story on their alerts list and favourited it. I'm grateful you're taking an interest in the story. Please enjoy this next chapter. Here begins Roy's first weekend at the Hawkeye household:**

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Roy snapped the book in front of him shut and let out a heavy sigh. He had been reading nearly all afternoon, and he was beginning to think it was time for a break. Upon his arrival at Hawkeye house, Master Hawkeye had loaded him up with books, told him to read them and report to him again in the morning to begin proper instruction, and promptly returned to his studies. Roy had eagerly obeyed; taking the books to the spare room he was staying in, and sitting down on his bed to lose himself in the world of Alchemy. He had been at it now for hours, he was sure. Looking up at the clock on his wall, he noticed the time; the small hand pointed straight at the six, while the larger one pointed to the twelve. Six o'clock. He had to squint slightly to see it; he had been pouring over the volumes for so long, he had failed to notice that it was growing dim outside.

Getting to his feet, Roy abandoned the books on the bed, walking over to the door and flicking on the nearby light switch. The globe overhead sprang to life, filling the room with brightness, as Roy looked around. When he had arrived earlier, he had immediately sat down to read, neglecting to pay attention to his surroundings. He did so now. The first thing he noticed was that the walls were painted a light shade of blue. The only furnishings in the room were the bed, a small table that sat beside it, a closet and a wooden dresser, which supported a mirror. The meagre amount of furniture made the room seem rather large and empty, but maybe that was because it was; he had the same sort of furniture back home, which just about filled his small bedroom. This room was much larger than he was used to.

Finally, Roy looked up at the roof, and, as he did so, he gaped. Over his head was wonderful painting that encompassed the majority of the roof space, depicting horses running through a lush field, stained orange by the setting sun. At the head of the herd, a black stallion reared triumphantly, mouth open in an inaudible cry. Though time had aged the image, it was still glorious. He stood there staring, long enough to make his neck cramp, so he tore his eyes away from the picture, rubbing the aching muscles. He glanced over at the books that waited on the bed for a moment before turning around. They could wait for a while. He needed to take a break. Opening the door, Roy peeked his head into the hallway. It was empty. As he stepped out of the room, the heavenly scent of food hit him square in the nose. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since the lunch he had on the train.

Roy followed his nose down the stairs and into the living room. Peeking inside, he discovered the source of the smell. There sat Master Hawkeye's young daughter, Riza, on one of the couches. A bowl of some sort of stew balanced on her lap; she held it steady with a hand that also clenched a spoon. In the other hand, she held a book open at approximately the middle. Eyes trained on the book, she released the bowl for a moment to spoon some of the contents into her mouth. He watched, slightly paranoid, sure that she was going to end up spilling the mouthful, but she proved him wrong. He waited until she steadied the bowl once more before he spoke up.

"Uh… Hi."

The girl gasped in surprise, jerking her head around to face him. He held his hands out in front of him, as one would to show a frightened animal he meant no harm. "It's just me. Roy Mustang, remember? Your father did tell you I was going to be staying here, right?"

"Oh…" she said in a soft voice, blinking at him for a moment, before looking back at her book. "I forgot you were here, Mr Mustang."

"It's Roy," he replied, a little irked by her admission. It stung his pride a bit to think that a girl would forget about him so easily. Maybe he was getting too used to being the centre of female attention. But then, she was just a kid, so she probably wasn't very interested in the opposite sex yet, so there really was no need for him to feel affronted. He watched as she scooped more of the stew into her mouth. "Should you really be eating that in here?" he questioned carefully. "You might spill some on the carpet."

"If I do spill any, Mr Mustang, I'll be the one to clean it up." She raised the spoon to her lips once more, eyes still on the book. "So I won't spill it."

"Oh… Okay…" He thought privately to himself that having the intent not to spill the meal didn't mean that she would be successful, especially if she kept looking at the book instead of her food. His stomach growled in protest again, roused by the sight of the stew. Roy flushed slightly, embarrassed that it was so loud.

She glanced over at him solemnly. "If you're hungry, Mr Mustang, there's a pot with more on the stove. You might need to re-heat it though, it's probably cooled off a bit now."

"Uhh… Thanks…" He turned back around to head to the kitchen, but paused in the door, glancing back upstairs. "Isn't your father going to eat anything?"

"Father takes his meals in his study most of the time," she responded. "I already took his supper to him."

"Oh… He doesn't come down to eat?"

"Not usually." His stomach growled again. "I think you'd better eat something yourself, Mr Mustang."

"Ah… Yes, I will, thank you." As he turned around to leave again, he felt a bit slighted. She had made a meal for her father and herself, but not for him.

_Now, that's not reasonable…_ He shook his head as he walked into the kitchen. _She said herself that she forgot I was going to be here… I didn't see her when I arrived, and I've been in the spare room reading Master's books all afternoon, so she couldn't have noticed that I was here. She's probably used to it just being herself and her father, so I can't really blame her for forgetting. I should just be grateful I'm getting to eat anything at all._

He glanced in the pot sitting on the stove, expecting a meagre amount to be left in the bottom. Much to his surprise, there was plenty enough for him to eat. He shrugged, switching the stove on to heat the food. A ladle sat on the sink, so he fetched that and used it to stir so it wouldn't burn. When it was hot enough, he turned around to look in the cupboards for a bowl to put it in. One sat there on the bench by itself, as though waiting for him. Actually, it probably _was_ meant for him. It certainly didn't get there on its own. He didn't take it out… And no one else had been in the kitchen since he walked in. It had to have been sitting there since before he had come in. So it seemed reasonable that Riza had probably left it there.

If she had forgotten he was going to be here, as she claimed, why would there be an extra bowl out? Unless Master Hawkeye had left it there… But had he even left his study since Roy arrived? Surely he would have heard if he had, the study was just down the hall from the room he was staying in, after all. It had to have been Riza then. Wait… If she remembered to leave a bowl out for him, then that meant she had lied about forgetting about him, didn't it? Why would she bother? Roy pondered on it as he filled up the bowl, tapping the ladle against the pot absentmindedly when he was done before rinsing it off.

_It can't hurt to just ask…_ he decided finally, heading back to the living room.

"Hey…" He glanced in, opening his mouth to speak, but she had disappeared. The only sign of the room's previous inhabitant was the empty bowl abandoned on the table, spoon sitting inside it. He sighed, and returned to the kitchen. Retrieving his food, he sat down at the table to eat, unnerved by the lack of noise. Meals were usually a boisterous affair for him, since he normally ate with his aunt and her employees in their large kitchen. It was a family affair. His very extended, mostly female 'family'. They all ate together at the one large table before the women had to work for the night. It was normally very loud, as the women gossiped and laughed throughout the entire meal. Occasionally, some of the older women asked him about his studies, and more recently, some of the younger ones flirted with him. Either way, it was never boring. The Hawkeye's house was so different from what he was used to.

When he was done eating, he washed out his bowl and returned upstairs to the books Master Hawkeye had told him to look over. He read them from cover to cover, before turning off the light and retiring for the night. He lay down on his side and pulled the covers up to his chin, closing his eyes to let sleep engulf him.

He was greeted by absolute silence. He opened his eyes again uneasily, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He was not used to this quiet. When he slept at home, he was often lulled to sleep by the clinking of glasses, and muffled chatter. Here, he could hear only the wind blowing in the trees outside and the occasional, distant lowing of cattle and bleating of sheep. The quiet seemed almost unnatural to him.

_This is going to take some getting used to..._ he thought as he closed his eyes once more.

XxX

He had done absolutely no physical exercise at all today, but Roy felt drained of strength. He was exhausted. Master Hawkeye was _that_ demanding. He had been concentrating so hard all day, and now his head throbbed painfully, as though information had been stuffed into his brain physically rather than verbally. He came out of Master Hawkeye's study holding the same books he had been given the night before, along with a couple of new ones. Master Hawkeye had stated that repetition was key to remembering information and told him to read the books again, and take them home with him to look over as well.

Roy took the books to his room and placed them on the bedside table before flopping down on the bed with a tired sigh. Even if he tried to read now, he would be too tired to concentrate; he had been concentrating all day, after all, and he felt like he could do with some rest. He yawned tiredly and closed his eyes, dozing off to sleep. When he awoke, he felt like he had barely rested at all, even though he had slept for a few hours. He was just debating whether to rest more, or attempt to get himself into the appropriate mindset for study, when he heard a chinking sound in the hall. Something as simple as that wouldn't normally distract him, but since any sort of noise in this particular house seemed out of place, he rose to investigate. Poking his head out into the hallway, he looked in both directions, but spotted nothing unusual. He was just about to retreat back into the room when the door to Master Hawkeye's study opened and Riza slipped out. She turned around, spotted him, and baulked slightly.

"Ah… Sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you again," he apologised.

"Did you want something, Mr Mustang?"

"No, I just heard a noise, that's all."

Riza looked back over her shoulder at the closed study door. "That must have been me. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mr Mustang."

"No, no! You didn't."

"Oh… That's good then…"

She fell quiet then, looking down at the floor and away from him. Uncomfortable with the silence, he asked, "You were bringing something to your father?"

She nodded sedately. "That's right. This is around the time he eats, so…"

"You took his meal up to him," he finished.

"Yes."

"I see."

She looked back up at him, and said hesitantly, "There's food prepared downstairs. Any time you get hungry, you can eat. I always make supper around this time."

"Thank you," he said with an encouraging smile. "I'll be sure to remember that."

She offered him a forced smile in reply, and disappeared into her own room, and Roy sighed to himself. Deprived of an excuse to make conversation, and break the quiet that seemed to hang over the house, he turned back into his room and clicked the door shut behind him, bathing the place in silence once more.

XxX

The bell chimed as Roy opened the bar door, and a dozen heads turned in automatic response to the sound of someone entering their establishment. Roy grinned, relieved to be home once more as he waved at them. "Hey!"

In a matter of seconds, he was surrounded by smiling faces, and passed from person to person as they mobbed him.

"Roy!"

"Did you miss us, little Roy?"

"Glad to see you back!"

"How were your studies?"

"I missed you while you were gone!"

Roy responded to each of them jovially, once they had calmed down a bit, "Of course I missed everyone, Mary! Haha, it's good to be back, Kate. It's going well! Thank you for asking about it, Charlotte."

"Welcome back, Roy-boy," his aunt called from the bar.

He walked over and sat on one of the seats, lowering his bag of books down to the floor by his feet. "Thanks, Aunt Chris."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I don't know if _enjoy_ is the right word," Roy replied. "I'm exhausted, that's for sure. I feel as though if you try putting any more information in my head, it's going to explode."

She chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "That's a good thing, Roy-boy."

"I know, I know. If I didn't want to learn, I wouldn't have wanted a teacher."

"So then, what's bothering you about it?"

"I dunno…" Roy muttered, resting his cheek on the bar in front of him. "I suppose, it's just… Things are a little… different… at that place."

"Change is bound to make you apprehensive at first," his aunt replied with an encouraging smile. "That's only natural. This was only your first visit, after all. You'll adjust to it in no time at all, you'll see."

"I hope so."

"In the meantime…" She looked up at the clock. "Why don't you go put your things upstairs? Then you can come down, and tell us all about your weekend. We've still got plenty of time before the place gets busy."

"All right." He got to his feet obediently, picking up his bag and heading up the stairs, listening to the banter left in his wake.

"I'll make us some tea while we wait!"

"No, don't! The last time _you_ made it we all ended up in the hospital!"

"Hey, you're exaggerating again! Not everyone got sick, thankyouverymuch!"

"Yeah, just most of us!" Raucous laughter followed that statement.

"Honestly, you shouldn't be allowed to cook either! I got food poisoning last time you made something!"

"Hey, this isn't fair! You're all ganging up on me! Madame, please make them stop!"

"Shut up the lot of you! Kate, you can make the tea for us. I don't want to be throwing up all night either."

"You too, Madame?"

Roy laughed softly to himself as he closed the door to his small room, and looked around fondly. Though it wasn't nearly as big as the room he had at the Hawkeye's house, it was a lot more comfortable. He removed Master Hawkeye's books from his bag and sat them carefully, reverently, on his dresser beside his own books. Then he flopped down on his bed and stretched out contentedly.

Looking back over the weekend in his mind, he thought he had finally pinned down what was bothering him about the Hawkeye's house. It was lacking in warmth. He wasn't thinking about temperature, although the room he was staying in _did_ get rather cold at night, but emotional warmth. The kind of everyday happiness that existed here, in his own home, was nonexistent in the Hawkeye household. There were no smiles there, no spontaneity, no laughter. There was no shouting, no simple banter, or even any scolding. It seemed so… empty. Master Hawkeye was always in his study; Roy hadn't seen him leave the room at all, although he was certain he must have at some point, for basic human needs. And Riza had been… doing whatever she did in her spare time. He had barely seen her at all over the weekend. Both of the Hawkeyes seemed to be very solitary people, avoiding even each other to an alarming degree. He had spent more time with Master Hawkeye this weekend than his own daughter had.

"Roy!" came a voice from downstairs. "Hurry up, would you?"

"Coming!" he called in reply, launching himself from his bed and heading back downstairs to the warmth of his family.

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**Please review! If I don't get any reviews, I will no doubt lack the motivation to update, and it will take me ages to write up and post the next chapter… Reviews make me happy and enthusiastic! Constructive criticism is more than welcome. And the next chapter will be Riza-centric, so look forward to it!**


	4. Filling Silence

**AN: Thank you to those who alerted, favourited, and extra thanks to those who reviewed. :) This chapter came more swiftly thanks to your encouragement. Also, it has been suggested to me that the centred format I have been using is annoying. Does anyone else feel this way? If so, I will align it to the left. Please review and tell me which you would prefer, and I will react according to majority. And if there's no clear majority, I shall ask again next chapter… Hopefully it won't come to that, I would prefer to sort this out swiftly. Now then… Let the chapter begin!**

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The schoolhouse was winding down for the day. At the front of the classroom, one of the younger students recited to the teacher while the others worked quietly on their respective projects. Across the room, one boy worked diligently, head bent over his desk, scribbling away in front of him. The boy beside him seemed to be concentrating just as hard, but was actually distracted, doodling dogs instead of practicing his lettering like he was supposed to. Riza was also preoccupied, staring intently at the book in front of her without making out the words, lost in her own thoughts. It was unusual for her to do so, but today was Friday, which meant that Roy Mustang would be arriving later. It had been several months since he had started visiting to learn from her father, and she still hadn't gotten used to having him in the house. The problem was her shyness; she was never comfortable around people she didn't know. She didn't speak much to begin with, and making casual conversation with a stranger who didn't know that fact was daunting for her. People often had to speak to her first before she would speak to them, and even then she replied with curt answers, often to the point of coming across as rude, and she always had trouble keeping a conversation going. This meant there were usually a lot of awkward pauses until they either said something else or gave up and left, or she walked off on her own.

Though he spent most of his time upstairs with her father, or in his room studying, Mr Mustang would come downstairs occasionally, usually for meals, or to go to the bathroom, etcetera. When if did, and if he saw her, he would often stop to speak to her for a few moments, though she was never sure why he bothered; if she had to guess, she would say he probably did it to be polite to his Master's only daughter. She was not so bold as to initiate a conversation with him herself. Even the thought of going upstairs and informing him that there was food available for him to eat when he felt hungry had made her nervous. She had decided to put it off until she was finished with her own meal, but it had thankfully resolved itself since he had come downstairs of his own accord. She had lied and told him that she had forgotten about him, rather than admit that she had been too nervous to speak to him. Not that all this really mattered in the end; she thought it would be preferable to just avoid him, even if it made him think she was just rude. Roy Mustang was no great concern of hers, after all. He would be here for a while to learn from her father, and then he would be gone, so there was no need for her to bother to get to know him any better.

A loud clanging interrupted her thoughts, and she jerked her head up in surprise. The teacher was ringing the handbell, signalling the end of the school day.

"That will be all," the young woman said. "You may all go home now."

"Yes ma'am," the students chorused in unison. After standing and showing their teacher the proper respect, they started filing out the door, Riza joining the throng as they gathered their things. A hand on her shoulder made her pause, and, startled, she looked up into the gentle face of her teacher.

"Is something bothering you, Riza?" the woman asked kindly, her eyes full of concern. "You've been in a world of your own all day."

"It's nothing, ma'am," she replied. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."

She didn't look convinced. "If you're sure… But don't forget, you can talk to me if you need to, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." The woman left her then, and Riza grabbed her things.

Outside, some of the older students were striding off down the road on their own or in small groups, while other, younger children, ran happily to their waiting parents. Riza never expected her father to be here waiting for her; he would need to leave the house to do so. She had been responsible for herself for almost five years, since after her mother's death. She could still remember her mother quite clearly; a woman with hair like golden thread and a tender face that radiated kindness. People often told her that she looked just like her mother, but Riza could never see the warmth that her mother had possessed reflected in her own features.

Back when her mother was still alive, things had been a lot livelier. Her father had not spent all his time locked away, and he had even smiled on a regular basis. The look that his eyes had held when he gazed upon his wife had long since vanished, instead taking on a more serious, apathetic stare. The only thing he worried about now was his Alchemy. But back then, he had cared for his family, and though he still devoted a large amount of time to studying, he would always make time for Riza and his wife. They had been happy. It was ironic that the very thing that had only extended their happiness at the time had also been the cause of its demise.

The first clue she had received was her mother humming away as she stood atop a ladder and painted the mural on the roof in the spare room, though she had been too young to make the connection back then. Riza had a similar painting in her own room, but hers depicted birds instead of horses. She could not remember when her mother had painted it, but she cherished the view for as long as she could remember. Painting had been her mother's hobby, something she enjoyed in her spare time, sitting outside with an easel and a brush to capture the world around her. But she rarely painted the interior of the house. It wasn't until later, when her mother's belly had started to grow round, that she had discovered there was something unusual going on.

When she had questioned her mother about the weight she was putting on, mother had smiled at her and replied, "I'm going to have a baby, Riza. Babies need lots of attention, so we'll be very busy taking care of it, and we won't be able to be with you all the time. So you're going to need to be a good big sister, and be patient. You'll need to do some things for yourself. But don't you _ever_ think for a second that we love you any less because of it."

The prospect of having a younger brother or sister, someone who would look up to her, had excited her, and she had been enthusiastic to help her mother in any way that she could. She remembered witnessing the joy on her mother's face as she finished the painting and she remembered her father bringing her old cot down from the attic to put in the room for the baby. Those days had been filled with eager anticipation as they awaited the arrival of the child.

Riza was the one who had found her mother collapsed at the foot of the stairs and groaning in pain, blood seeping from between her legs, and her scream had brought her father to the scene within moments. He had carried his wife upstairs and called for the doctor, and had stayed upstairs with mother while they waited, telling Riza to stay downstairs by the window, and to come fetch him when the doctor arrived. The doctor had wasted no time, arriving within a half hour and disappearing into her parents' room, where they all stayed for a long period of time. She couldn't remember exactly how long it had lasted. All she knew is that those long hours had been among the loneliest she had ever experienced, unable to comprehend what was going on, and scared out of her mind. No one had come to tell her what was happening; all she knew at the time was that her mother needed a doctor, and it had something to do with the baby. She had wanted to help in any way that she could, but her mother, father, and the doctor were locked away in the bedroom, and none of them emerged. She had sat outside the door on the verge of tears for hours on end, unsure what else she should be doing with herself.

Eventually, the door had creaked open and her father had emerged. She was certain she would never forget the way he had looked at that moment. His eyes were sunken and shadowed, and they held a haunted look that intimidated her. He had looked down at her for a moment as though he couldn't really see her, as though he had forgotten that she existed, before his eyes eventually focused. He brought her into the room to see her mother. The baby was dead by the time it was finally born, a little boy whose life had ended before he had even had the chance to open his eyes. She had never seen the face of her little brother; he had been wrapped up in a blanket and taken away while she had been brought to her mother's side. She could still clearly remember her mother's pale face, and the sad, weak smile that she had as she reached out to her. She had still been holding her mother's hand when her eyes had closed. She never opened them again.

After her mother's death, her father had become withdrawn, spending more and more hours in his study, working feverishly on his Alchemy and muttering to himself, emerging only at mealtimes and to make sure she went off to school at the right time. It wasn't long before he began to come out for only one meal a day until, concerned for his health, she took his meals up to him. After she started doing that, he stopped coming out almost entirely, and she was forced to organise and care for herself. It became an everyday routine for her: wake up, take her father his breakfast, head off to school, come home, clean, take father his supper, read for a while, then bed. She adjusted to that life. Then, one day, he had broken that habit and come out in the afternoon, his eyes wide and eager. He had grabbed her by the arm and started dragging her up the stairs, claiming he was going to teach her Alchemy. To say she had panicked was an understatement. She had screamed and cried and fought, breaking away from him and tearing down the hall to her room, locking herself inside. He had pounded on the door for hours, pleading for her to come out, to let him pass on his knowledge to her, while she stubbornly remained curled in a ball on her bed, hands over her ears to block out the noise.

Because the sight of him enthralled in his research as he worked with feverish dedication, as though possessed, terrified her. She didn't want that same look in her eyes. She wanted nothing to do with Alchemy, the science that had ensnared her father's mind. She did not want to become like him. He, who had locked himself away, interested in nothing but what was written on the pages in front of him, leaving her feeling alone and unloved in this large, empty house. Though she had no doubt that Alchemy could indeed be used for the benefit of mankind, as he claimed, she refused to learn it. Let someone else become the obsessed maniac like her father. She would not fall victim to its influence herself. Eventually, he had given up trying to convince her, and returned to his study. Though it wasn't until hours later, when it was getting dark, that she had finally felt like it was safe to emerge from her bedroom. She had taken him his supper, as she usually did, and they pretended that nothing significant had happened at all. It was never brought up again, just like her mother.

Not long after that, _they_ started showing up. She wasn't sure exactly how they knew her father was looking for someone to teach; whether he had emerged from his study sometime while she was at school to spread the word himself, or whether wannabe Alchemists had some kind of inner homing device that responded when desperate mentors were looking for students, she would never know. The first had lasted the longest; he had been the eldest, a grown man, and had shown potential; strong moral values, and a genuine wish to help people. But he already knew some things himself, and was arrogant, claiming that her father should hurry along his instruction, since he was so far ahead already. Her father had stated that he either learn at the pace he was being taught, or get out and find another instructor. He chose the latter option. After that man, it was just one failure after another. Most of them did not meet her father's requirements for students, and those who did gave up under the workload he placed on them.

Roy Mustang was the first of her father's students who hadn't given up or become cocky. When he had first arrived, she had wanted to hate him. He spent all his time upstairs with her father, _her_ father, who never gave her so much as a second glance when he looked at her. But she couldn't bring herself to be that petty to someone who had never intentionally gone out of his way to harm her. She was sure that deep down, her father really _did_ love her. He just cared more about his Alchemy, and Mr Mustang was just an extension of that. It wasn't that her father cared more about Roy Mustang than he did his own daughter; Mr Mustang was just someone he could share his Alchemical knowledge with, unlike her, who had wanted nothing to do with it.

"Riza!"

She paused in surprise, looking back over her shoulder. Waving and rushing to catch up to her, were three girls, classmates of hers. They all were her seniors by at least two years, Samantha being the eldest, at thirteen. They stopped when they reached her, panting slightly from their exertions.

"Is something the matter?" she asked. The girls shook their heads.

"We just wanted to come over and visit you at home," Samantha replied, and looked back at the other girls. "Right?"

They both nodded in agreement obediently.

_You've never wanted to visit me before…_ she thought to herself suspiciously. Not that she really blamed them; she was aware of the things people said about her father. Many of the adults thought the death of her mother had driven him into insanity. And since her father spent most of his time shut up in his study focused on his Alchemy, the rumours were uncontested by none but herself. As a result, she was often the target of sympathy from the adult population of the town, who treated her with extra kindness. Some felt the need to be patronising, which only annoyed her, though she did not show it openly. The children were a different matter. They had more active imaginations. The rumours among _them_ suggested that her father was working on something sinister in his study, like he some sort of mad evil genius. They were nice enough to her at school, but they never invited her to spend more time with them, or asked to visit her. This was a first.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Samantha asked innocently.

"No, not at all." Yes, there _was_ something wrong with that. She couldn't help but feel that they had some ulterior motive for suddenly deciding to visit, and something in their manner suggested to her that she ought to know what it was. "But if you want to come to my house, you had better hurry up. I need to be home soon."

"Right." The other girl put an arm around her shoulders casually, much to her discomfort, and the other two girls closed in behind them. "Then let's get going!"

As they walked together, the other girls chattered with each other, making no effort to include her in the conversation, despite the fact that she was standing in the centre of the group. Riza wondered to herself exactly _why_ she had agreed to let them visit. It wasn't exactly as if they were friends of hers; they had never made any effort to get to know her better before now. They were a close-knit group of friends that had grown up together; they only included other people if they thought that they could get something out of it themselves, and when they couldn't get their own way, they could be very persistent. If she had refused to let them come home with her, they would spend all their time at school wearing down her resistance until she caved in. She didn't want to be bothered like that. It would be better to just let them come home with her now, but that didn't stop them from being bothersome now.

Upon their arrival at her home, the girls paused nervously at the threshold, no doubt made hesitant by the rumours about her father. Riza went in ahead of them. They would either come in, or they would be too scared and end up leaving; she didn't care either way. They followed behind her hurriedly, one of them closing the door anxiously. They all jumped when it clicked shut, much to her amusement. She brought them into the living room, where she offered to make them tea, which they accepted. When the tea was ready, she brought it in and sat down with them, listening as they chattered, answering the occasional questions they asked her when they felt that they were maybe being a bit rude by not including her in the conversation. Though they were a bit annoying occasionally, she had to admit that it _was_ nice hearing the ring of voices in the house for once. Eventually, a loud knock interrupted the chatter, and the girls paused, and glanced over at her expectantly. She sighed, and rose to her feet.

"Excuse me." At this time of day, she knew exactly who would be arriving. Sure enough, she opened the door to reveal her father's apprentice. After months of coming here, she had thought that he would be confident enough to let himself in by now.

"Hi?" He made the greeting sound like a question.

"I really don't think you need to continue knocking, Mr Mustang," she informed him blandly.

"Yeah, sorry…" He rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture. "Can I come in?"

"I _did_ open the door, didn't I?"

"…Good point." His eyes flickered upward from her, looking at something over her shoulder. "Oh… You have friends here?"

Looking back herself, she realised that the girls had followed her out of the living room._ Not exactly…_ she thought, but she replied instead, "Yes." At her confirmation of their status, they moved forward eagerly.

"Hiiiiiii," Samantha said. "I'm Samantha. That's Gabriel, and that's Cynthia."

"It's nice to meet you all," he replied pleasantly.

"You're learning Alchemy, right?" Cynthia asked.

"Yes, that's why I'm here."

"That's so cool! Do you think you could show us something?"

It didn't take a genius to realise that this was the reason her classmates had suddenly wanted to visit. As they chattered with him, and he responded amiably, she removed herself from the group and walked into the kitchen. They didn't even notice her disappearance. She wasn't really surprised; Mr Mustang was a new face in the town, and an attractive one at that. Even _she_ would admit that much. And those girls were bound to find him more interesting than the boys their own age that lived here; those who were the same age as Mr Mustang were not nearly as mature as he was, nor were they really interested in girls, preferring to mess around outside and get dirty, something that those girls detested.

"You're so lucky, Riza!" a voice behind her gushed. She turned around to look at the girls who had come up behind her while she kept to herself. Mr Mustang had obviously disappeared upstairs to see her father, as he usually did upon his arrival.

"How so?" she asked. The girls stared at her in shock, as though she had just said something absurd.

"What do you mean 'how so'?" Cynthia exclaimed. "He's sooooo handsome!"

"And so courteous!" Gabriel added.

"And his smile!" breathed Samantha.

"And he's staying at your house!" Gabriel said in a dreamy tone. "You get to see him all the time when he's here!"

"I don't see him all the time," Riza responded blandly. "He's always upstairs with my father. He's here to learn, that's all."

They gave her the 'what, are you stupid?' look again.

"You're just a kid," Samantha said in a condescending tone, "so you don't get it."

"No, get it," she said. "He's good looking, right? But it's not like he'd be interested in spending time with a kid, and it's not like he's going to be here forever."

They looked down at her scornfully.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Samantha said to the other two. "She just doesn't understand." They both nodded again, apparently in complete agreement with the bossy girl. Riza sighed, and turned her back on them. _They_ were the ones who didn't understand, as far as she was concerned. She didn't want to bother about boys right now. There was plenty of time for that in the future. And making a fuss about a particular boy just because he was a handsome new face was ridiculous. It's not like he would stick around for these girls, who were probably already planning their dream weddings in their minds with _him_ as the groom.

"Uh… Riza?"

"Hmm?" She looked back. The other two girls were gone, but Cynthia still lingered in the doorway.

She smiled hesitantly. "Thank you for letting us visit. And… I'm sorry… about the other two…"

Riza nodded in reply. Then, the other girl left as well.

_Well… At least not all of them are so bad…_

Riza turned back around, and looked up at the clock on the wall. Letting those girls visit had interrupted her usual routine. She would have to start on supper now, and forgo tidying up the house for today. It's not like it was particularly dirty anyway, it was just a force of habit really; something to amuse herself with while she was at home. She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a pot. It was time to get to work.

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**Well, that's it for this chapter. Some bonding may occur in the next chapter… Or will it? To find out, you'll have to wait for the next chapter, and review, preferably. Don't forget; I want your opinion on what sort of format I should use! Click that review button!**


	5. Different

**AN: My apologies for the tardiness of this update. Other tasks distracted me. But thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, alerted, etc. Since there weren't enough reviews for me to call a clear majority, I haven't decided on the format just yet. I have, however, aligned this chapter to the left to make a comparison between the two easier. So if you're following this story, PLEASE tell me which you would favour, even if you just drop a quick anonymous review to tell me your preference. I don't want to drag this problem out any longer than necessary. So tell me, centred, or left aligned?**

**Anyway… Now that the more "introductory" chapters are out of the way, the story should make some headway. I mentioned some bonding at the end of the last chapter, didn't I? Did I, or did I not follow through with that? Only one way you're going to find out, isn't there? **

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"That will be all for now," Master Hawkeye told him, and gestured at a thick book sitting on the end of his desk. "Review this, and report back to me tonight."

"Yes, Master," Roy replied obediently. He took the volume the man had indicated and made to leave, though he paused at the door to look back at his Master. He was flipping through the book open on the desk in front of him, frowning in concentration as he looked it over. He had probably already forgotten that Roy had just been in the room. Roy closed the door behind him and sighed. Though he greatly respected his Master and his knowledge of Alchemy, he couldn't deny that the man seemed to care more about his personal research than anything else. He often wondered exactly what it was his Master was working on that required so much of his time and attention. Not that Roy felt _he_ needed more of his Master's attention; it just concerned him that the man never seemed to leave the house. It surely couldn't be good for his health, being shut up in his study all the time. A man had to get out and breathe in the fresh air every once in a while, right? Though it wasn't as if he was here all the time, so perhaps Master left the house sometime when he wasn't around… But he doubted it. He had a hard time picturing his Master anywhere but his study.

Descending the stairs, Roy made his way into the living room, setting down his book on the table. He didn't see Riza anywhere, and he didn't really expect to; she never lingered when he was in the house. He often felt that she was outright avoiding him, but he didn't know why she would do that. He had never said or done anything to make her dislike him at all, that he was aware of. It bothered him more than he would care to admit. He often thought of himself as a likable person, so it was an enormous blow to his confidence. He wasn't used to not being liked. It normally didn't take him long to gain _anyone's_ attention - females admittedly more so nowadays than males - though he managed to garner a lot of respect from members of his own sex. Well, older males at least. Boys his own age and younger, who were a lot less driven than he was, often didn't understand why he was so serious about his studies, or were afraid that his attractive appearance would catch the attention of the girl they liked. But still, even if they initially thought of him as a rival, he would end up winning them over eventually.

Yet, it seemed that he couldn't win Riza over at all. He didn't get much time outside his studies, so he didn't see her much, but when did, and if he found her downstairs, he would always try to talk with her. In part, it was because he didn't want to appear ungrateful to the person who fed him while he was here, but it was mostly because he was a sociable person. He was accustomed to having a lot of people around him, and there would always be someone who would be happy to speak with him. In this house, there wasn't. Master Hawkeye spoke to him, but only about his studies. Riza, he couldn't engage at all! He would say something to her, and she would reply, usually without looking at him, and then walk off and leave him alone again. A year he had been here; a _year_, and the girl couldn't even stay in the same room or speak with him for more than a few minutes! Why? What had he done to make her want to ignore him?

He shook his head violently to clear it. That was enough! He shouldn't be dwelling on stupid things like his personal charm failing to sway his Master's daughter. That wasn't important. What _was_ important was the text his Master had told him to study. He sat down on the couch and picked the book up, lounging back comfortably to read. Though the silence in the house had bothered him when he first arrived, he had discovered it was much easier to focus here than it was at home. In this house, there were no distractions to pull him from his studies.

A loud shattering sound broke his concentration, and he started as a rock landed beside his foot, as though purposely mocking his thoughts. Shards of glass littered the carpet in front of the living room window, broken off from their source when the stone had made its entry. Knowing full well that rocks couldn't fly through windows of their own accord, Roy leapt to his feet to investigate, his hands fisting in anger as he surveyed the scene outside. Three boys stood just outside the iron fence. A brunette boy stood marginally closer to the house than the other two. He was flanked by two redheads, who were egging him on as he poised to throw another rock, a bold smirk plastered across his face.

Livid, Roy dashed over to the door and yanked it open. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he yelled furiously.

The boy yelped in surprise and stumbled back, colliding with his two friends behind him and sending them all tumbling to the ground. As Roy advanced angrily, they scrambled to their feet and fled, sprinting back down the road as fast as their legs would carry them. Roy paused at the gate as he watched their retreat. He wanted to give chase, but they had the advantage in turf. In the time that he had been visiting here, he had only ever come to visit Master Hawkeye, so he had never bothered to explore the town before. If he tried to chase them down, he'd just get himself lost, most likely. But how he wanted to catch them! Their vandalism of his Master's house infuriated him. He wanted to run those boys down and make them pay for what they had done. He would catch them and beat them senseless until they learned that doing things to upset someone who had never done a thing to hurt them was wrong. But common sense out-ruled his desire for justice. It was ridiculous to begin a pursuit that wouldn't be successful in the end anyway, when he could always search out the boys and pay them back later. Yeah… That was a solid plan. He had gotten a good enough look at them to describe their features. Surely there would be someone who could tell him where they lived.

Turning back to the house, he walked over to the broken window and examined it. He could fix it using Alchemy without any trouble. Master Hawkeye would never have to know it had been damaged. He would have to do it from the inside, since most of the glass had landed in the house. A few shards, however, had landed outside, so he picked them up. The transmutation would work better if he had as much of the original material as possible.

"Bunch of damn kids…" he muttered to himself distractedly, jiggling the broken glass in his hand.

There was a grating creak behind him and Roy jerked in surprise. As he did, a sudden flash of pain in his hand made him gasp. Blood started to dribble from his clenched fist. Looking down at his hand, he opened it tentatively, to find glass cutting into his skin. Of course. In his surprise, his hand had tightened around the shards, digging them into his flesh. He stared dumbly at the wound for a moment, before it finally clicked that he should react in some way.

"_Shit_!" He grabbed his wrist, grimacing as his hand throbbed in pain. Before he could even attempt to stop the bleeding, he would have to remove the glass; wrapping a tourniquet around his hand to stem the blood flow would drive it in deeper.

Hearing a soft gasp, Roy remembered what had surprised him in the first place, and whirled around. Riza was standing in the gateway, clutching a paper bag full of groceries in her arms. Her eyes widened as they fixed on his bloody hand.

"Riza…?"

She snapped out of her trance when he spoke her name, and hurried past him into the house.

_What was that about? _he thought to himself._ Is she afraid of blood or something?_ He had certainly seen it before at home; a few of the women who worked for his aunt didn't like blood at all, growing queasy or fainting at the mere sight of it. Roy shook his head and went into the house himself, pausing in the hallway as he realised; he didn't even _know_ where he could find anything to help him. No… He didn't even know if there _were_ any first-aid materials in the house! Lingering aimlessly in the hall, he nearly tripped over the paper bag that Riza had seemingly left sitting on the floor. He stumbled, grabbing the staircase rail behind him with his good hand to keep his balance.

"It's just not my day today…" he muttered to himself.

Hurried footsteps sounded from the kitchen and he looked over as Riza emerged, holding a small tin container by the handle. He flinched in surprise and pain as she grabbed his hand and examined it in a businesslike manner.

"This doesn't look good, Mr Mustang. You should really be more careful with broken glass." He hissed in pain as she pulled carefully at one of the shards and she winced in sympathy. "Sorry."

Roy was confused. What had changed exactly, to make her suddenly want to help him? He could think of nothing at all. She had been just as distant to him as she usually was of late. She had never treated him differently like this before. Why had she suddenly started caring now? Or… was it that she had not actually disliked him in the first place? That she was actually a compassionate person at heart, helping him out because he needed it, and her behaviour to date was just the fault of… shyness? He cursed himself for not realising it sooner.

"It doesn't appear to have penetrated too deeply. Just hold still, and I'll–" Looking back up at his face, her eyes widened, and she dropped his hand as though it had unexpectedly burned her. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – I'll just–" She turned abruptly to leave.

Realising she mistook the reason for his shock, he grabbed her arm with his uninjured hand before she could escape, and offered her a friendly smile. "No, it's alright. I would appreciate the help. It will be a bit difficult for me to tend to it by myself. Please?"

She looked up at him searchingly for a moment, before glancing away and bobbing her head in compliance. "All right… But it will be easier if you would sit down Mr Mustang."

"The living room then?" he asked, and she nodded in reply.

He walked into the room and sat down on the couch, and she followed, sitting the container she had been carrying down on the table and opening it. Inside were various items that usually made up such a kit; antiseptic, bandages, scissors, tweezers and the like. She removed the latter and looked over at him expectantly. He offered his hand to her and she took it, readying the tweezers to perform their task. He winced as she pulled out the first shard of glass and sat it on the table beside them, looking away to take his mind off of it. It didn't really hurt - he was already in enough pain; it couldn't get any worse - it was just unsettling to watch. He caught sight of the broken window once more. In the fuss over his injury, he had all but forgotten what had caused it in the first place.

"Does it happen often?" She looked up at him questioningly and he gestured at the broken window. "That. A brunette boy and two red-haired boys did it. They threw a rock in your window. Do you get that all the time?"

She glanced over at the damaged window for a moment, before returning her attention to his hand. "No. I'd say the Harmon boys have their cousin from the West visiting. They like to show off in front of him. They would never dare to do something like that if it were just the two of them."

Her blatant indifference bothered him. "How can you say that?" he demanded angrily. "You don't care that they just vandalised your house?"

She flinched and shrank away from him and he mentally swore at himself for letting his frustration get the better of him and frightening her. It would just make her more apprehensive about talking to him.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I didn't mean to yell. I just don't understand why it doesn't upset you that they would do something like that in the first place."

She looked at him sceptically before returning to the task at hand, lapsing into silence for such a long moment that he was briefly paranoid she was ignoring him. "Children are very immature, Mr Mustang," she finally said softly. "They hear of my father, and how he rarely leaves the house, and they think of him as a crazy man. They think it will be fun, daring even, to try to provoke the mad alchemist who lives in the rundown house down the street. It's… a game to them."

After hearing her speak, he felt uneasy. That kind of outlook wasn't something he expected from a girl her age. He knew from experience that most children were inherently selfish, putting their own wants and needs above all else; he had been the same just a few years ago. Part of growing up was learning to consider and accept the actions and feelings of others. It was creepy to hear such tolerance from a kid.

"…You speak of children as though you aren't one yourself," he said finally.

"I suppose I _am_ a bit different," she replied in a sheepish tone that brought an amused smile to his face.

"Well, _you_ might be forgiving, but I'm not," he told her. "You know those guys right? Tell me where they live, and I'll make sure they don't do anything like this again."

"Please don't." Her voice was firm and serious.

"Huh?"

"Mr Mustang, please don't think such a thing. Just leave it alone."

"What? You're telling me I should just forget this happened? What if they decide to do it again? If I confront them about it now, there's no way they'll do it again!"

"And then what happens, Mr Mustang?" she asked him seriously. "When you go home for the week, what do you think those boys will do? I go to school with them. Do you think they won't consider that maybe _I_ was the one who sent you over to visit them?"

"If they bother you, I'll just–"

"I'm asking you to leave those boys alone," she cut him off. "Besides, it was just an isolated occurrence; it's never happened before, and I'm sure it won't happen again. No good ever comes from stirring things up. So please… don't."

"Fine," he huffed finally. "But if they do something like this again, you have to tell me, all right?"

"All right," she agreed, but he wasn't convinced. She fell silent once more as she dabbed his now glass-free hand with the antiseptic.

"_Do_ they bug you at all?" he questioned. "At school, I mean?"

She shook her head. "No, they would never dare. The teacher makes sure that nothing like that happens on her watch."

"Alright… But what about after school?"

"I come straight home after school."

"What about on the way–"

She gave him an irritated look and he bit his tongue.

"Sorry. I guess I'm prying, aren't I?"

She didn't respond, distracted by wrapping a bandage around his hand tightly. "Done."

He examined his bandaged hand and smiled at her. "Thank you."

She returned the gesture tentatively and looked down at the pile of glass she had picked from his hand. "I'll have to throw this out."

"No! Don't throw the glass out! I'm going to use it to fix the window!"

"…Okay. But I think it would probably be wise to wash the blood off first." She started to pack the tools back into the kit, glancing over at him for a brief moment. "…And you should probably change your shirt… It has blood on it too."

"What?" He asked, confused. She pointed and he followed her indicating finger to his sleeve cuff, which was soaked with it. "Aww man… My aunt is going to kill me! This is one of my favourite shirts too…" His aunt disliked doing laundry any more than was necessary, and she had warned him from an early age that if he stained his clothes there would be torturous consequences. Taking his bloody shirt home would surely be a trip fraught with uncertain terrors. It would be safer to burn the shirt than take it home even; she would rather buy him a new one than attempt to get the bloodstains out of this one!

The fear must have shown up on his face, because Riza said, hesitantly, "If you would like, Mr Mustang, I could wash it for you before you leave."

"Y–You would do that? Because that would be great! …Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?"

"It's really not a big deal, Mr Mustang. I need to do the laundry anyway… It won't take me much longer to do your shirt as well."

"Thank you!" He made to undo his shirt buttons, and paused. It probably _wasn't_ a good idea to strip off his shirt in front of his Master's daughter. "I'll go change upstairs. Where would you like me to put the shirt?"

"Just leave it in your room," she replied as she closed the lid to the first-aid kit, "and I'll pick it up when I clean up there."

"You… clean my room?"

"…Well, it certainly doesn't clean itself, Mr Mustang."

"You're right, that was stupid. I'm sorry." It wouldn't be too hard to figure out that the only person who made sure the house was tidy was Riza, but he had never really put much thought into it before, since he had never actually seen her doing it. "When will you do it?"

"Sometime later today."

"When I'm upstairs with your father," he said bluntly. She didn't respond. "You know, you can just come in any time. I really don't mind."

"I don't want to disturb your studies, Mr Mustang…" she replied.

"What makes you think that you would?"

She looked away and shrugged. "The last thing you need while you're studying is someone bumping around the room."

"You won't disturb me. Really. I'm used to more noisy girls at home. Compared to them, you're like a mouse. Quieter than one, actually." She stared at him. "…It's a compliment."

"Thank you, I think…" She stood and picked up the first-aid kit. "I'll go put this away."

She left, and Roy went upstairs to change. He took off his bloody shirt and put on a clean one, leaving the stained shirt on the end of the bed as Riza had instructed.

He saw now that his opinion of her behaviour had been egotistical. He had thought she had been avoiding him because of something _he_ had done. He had never considered that the problem had merely been shyness and uncertainty on her part. But now that he knew that for certain, he could deal with it. There were ways to combat shyness, and he would take the most direct method; ignoring it. It would merely require a bit more effort on his part. And perhaps if he could make friends with Riza, he wouldn't feel quite so lonely when he came here in the future.

Roy went back down the stairs and paused. The groceries still sat in the hallway, abandoned where Riza had left them to tend to him. He picked up a couple of apples that had rolled away, wincing as his injured hand pulled, and put them back in the bag. Now seemed like as good a time as any to start. He lifted the bag awkwardly in his arms and carried it into the kitchen.

"Riza? Where would you like this?"

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**Reviews make me happy! They give the encouragement I need to keep writing. What will happen in the next chapter? You'll find out that much faster if you click that 'Review Story' option. And PLEASE, I want the formatting problem sorted out. Don't assume that someone else will tell me what you want, tell me yourself! And constructive criticism is welcome. DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW.**


	6. Reach

**AN: Phew. Finally got around to writing this out. Sorry it took so long. And, as of this chapter, the story will be aligned to the left. I have gone back and done the same to all the previous chapters as well. Most people said left, and I'm sick of asking already… But thank you to everyone who paid attention and told me what they wanted. And thanks also for the alerts and favourites, and _extra_ special thanks to those who reviewed. You all know who you are! :3 I appreciate your words greatly. Anyway, I thought I'd better get this chapter written and posted, as I've been caught up in Dark Dawn fever (It's almost here, WHOO! \o/) and sorely neglected it of late, so here it is**!

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"Hello there, Roy," he was greeted familiarly by several people as he stepped off the train, having just arrived at the station. Roy smiled at them and offered his own greeting, before leaving the platform and starting down the road at a lazy pace, thrusting his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. He had, after all, arrived early today, so there was no need to rush. The air outside had a distinct chill to it but he was dressed comfortably to combat it, and much to his relief, it wasn't raining or snowing. As long as he wasn't going to get wet, he could set his own speed to the Hawkeyes' house.

All around him people were busy with the tasks that made up their everyday lives. On one side of the road, a group of men herded a flock of sheep to new pasture. One of the creatures made a dash in the wrong direction and was halted by a yapping dog, which, at the behest of its master, sent it back in the direction it had come. On the other side of the road, he glimpsed a woman emerge from her home to pick up wood from the pile sitting next to her door before returning inside. A few moments after, smoke began to billow more thickly from her chimney.

A group of children ran past him, laughing and shoving each other as they moved down the road. He paused to watch them for a moment, frowning, before continuing on. He didn't need to think hard to identify why it bothered him. It wasn't the children themselves; they were just behaving like children did. Like they should. Completely the opposite of how Riza behaved. He never saw _her_ act like these children; he barely saw her leave the house. If she did, it was usually for school or errands, not fun. He had never seen her leave the house for the purpose of spending time with friends and enjoying herself. Did she _ever_ have fun? …Did she even know what fun _was_?

He let out an exasperated sigh. It was hard to find time between his lessons with Master Hawkeye to try to get Riza to open up to him a little, but somehow, he felt as though he was managing. His studies took priority over everything; he was planning to build his future on Alchemy after all, so he didn't get much time to speak with her, and he wondered if he was really making _any_ progress at all. He wasn't sure what she thought of him. Did she consider him her friend yet? An acquaintance, at least? Did she find his constant attempts to engage her annoying? Or was her opinion of him completely neutral? To say that she confused him was an understatement.

And it frustrated him beyond belief.

As he mused, he glimpsed a sudden flash of gold from the corner of his eye, and looked over at the other side of the street. There she was, as though his thoughts had summoned her. Her back was facing him so she had yet to notice his presence.

"Riza!" he called out.

She started at his shout, and turned around to face him abruptly. "…Mr Mustang?"

He picked up his pace until he came to stop beside her. "What are you doing down the street?"

"I was… going to get some groceries," she replied.

"I'll go with you then."

She shook her head, and said in a serious voice, "Father will be waiting for you, Mr Mustang. You should go home to see him."

"No, no, it will be fine. The train was early anyway. And you'll just be going straight home, after this, won't you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then it's okay," he cut her off before she could continue to protest. "I'll still be arriving at the house at the time I usually do."

"Yes, but-"

"So, let's go." He gave her a gentle shove in the right direction.

"Mr Mustang, I really think that you should-"

"_I_ think that I should get something to eat! I'm _starving_!"

It was a lie. He wasn't really hungry – he had eaten already on the train – but he knew if he didn't come up with some sort of excuse, she would continue to protest. She gave him a sceptical look, but sighed, and fell into step beside him quietly. He peeked at her from the corner of his eyes as they walked. Her gaze was glued to the ground in front of her, and she didn't look up at the people who passed them by unless they greeted her specifically, in which case she would smile and return the greeting in a polite, mechanical tone. There was no real interest or sincerity behind the words. He was greeted by the same situation when they walked into the general store.

The woman behind the counter smiled, and said, "Hello, Riza. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Riza responded automatically. "And yourself, ma'am?"

Roy browsed as Riza told the woman what she wanted, idly examining tins of canned food and fresh fruit and vegetables, waiting for her to finish. When he heard the sound of coins jingling, he ambled over to the counter lazily.

"And here's your change." The woman passed the coins to Riza.

"Thank you," Riza said.

The woman smiled down at her for a moment, before looking over at Roy. "You're that Mustang boy, aren't you?"

"That's right," Roy replied. "Roy Mustang, ma'am."

"I've heard quite a bit about you," she said with a smile.

"Whatever you've heard, I'm sure it's been exaggerated," he said with a laugh, and turned to Riza. "Are you ready to go?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"Weren't you going to buy something?" she questioned in a suspicious voice.

"Oh, yeah, right…" He glanced around quickly, and his eyes fell upon the fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple and sat it on the counter, before turning back to Riza and asking, "Do you want something?" She shook her head. "You sure? I can get you something if you do."

"No, thank you," she replied. "I don't want anything."

"All right." He paid the shopkeeper, who smiled and thanked him for his purchase, and Riza took her bag from the counter. "Give me that, I'll carry it," he said immediately.

"I can carry it myself, thank you." She clutched the paper bag against her chest in an almost defensive manner.

He frowned, and tried again. "It looks heavy."

"I'm stronger than I look."

"I have no doubt that you are. However," and he gestured for her to hand him the package, "it's improper for a gentleman such as myself to allow a lady to carry a load like that when I'm not carrying anything at all."

"And how are you supposed to carry the bag and eat at the same time?" she inquired.

"I'll eat it later."

"I thought you were _starving_?" she replied in an accusing tone.

He grimaced. "Well… I can manage both at the same time, surely!"

She gave him a sceptical look. "I don't want to risk you dropping my bag, Mr Mustang."

He was certain that she was doing this just to be difficult. Most girls would be happy for him to carry their groceries; no… they would be offended if he didn't offer to begin with! _Every single girl_. But _not_ Riza Hawkeye. He looked down at her, taking in the stubborn set to her face. Over something as silly as a shopping bag of all things! …That he was being just as adamant about carrying as she was, admittedly. But he wasn't planning on backing down, and clearly she wasn't either.

"Very well then," he said carefully. "How about a compromise? You carry it until I'm done eating this." He held up the apple. "But when I'm done, you have to give it to me and I'll carry it the rest of the way."

"That's pointless," she replied bluntly. "By the time you finish that, we'll nearly be back at the house, and I might as well have carried it the whole way anyway!"

"I'll eat it quickly then."

"You'll get a stomach-ache if you wolf it down like that!"

"Excuse me," the shopkeeper spoke up. Roy blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that the woman was there. Riza seemed to have forgotten as well. She jumped slightly and a guilty expression flittered across her face. "You're making a racket in my shop."

They muttered their apologies in unison.

"Now, really!" The woman stood there with her hands on her hips. "You'll scare all my customers away at this rate! Go on home. And really, Riza… What's the point in having a cute boy help you with the shopping if you're not going to make him carry everything for you?"

"I didn't ask him to come with me…" he heard her mutter to herself.

The shopkeeper heard also. "Well that's even more reason to be grateful! How many men are you going to find that will _willingly_ do thoughtful things? Really, girl, take it while you can get it!"

Roy pretended not to hear as the woman basically told Riza she should be taking advantage of his kindness rather than brushing him off, instead taking a sudden interest in the roof and shifting awkwardly in place.

Riza nodded at the shopkeeper with a serious expression on her face, but he had a hard time believing that she would actually take the woman's advice to heart.

"You two run along now."

They left the store, walking in silence broken only by the crunch of gravel under their feet and of Roy devouring the apple he had bought. It was crisp and juicy, with a sweet taste. Much fresher than he was used to back home. He finished it quickly and threw the core to the side of the road, before looking over at Riza expectantly.

She examined him critically for a moment, before saying, "Your hands are sticky."

He sighed and looked around, not really expecting to find anything that would help him, but, fortunately for him, a nearby water trough was there to solve his problems. He anticipated that Riza would keep walking, but she stopped to wait for him as he washed his hands in the trough. A cow drinking from the water paused and sniffed his hands, before attempting to curl its long tongue around his fingers. He pulled his hands out quickly. Behind him, Riza made a sound that could've been a laugh disguised by a cough. He returned to her on the road and showed her his clean hands, feeling very much like a young child being scolded by a fussy parent.

"Now they're wet." He sighed, and wiped his hands on his trousers. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Now your trousers are wet."

"But my hands aren't. My pants will dry quickly enough. Are you going to give me the bag, or not?"

She looked at him gravely, then down at the bag, and at him again. Then, with a sigh, she held it out to him, and he took it quickly before she changed her mind. It was just as heavy as he had expected. He was surprised she had carried it this far. But then, she probably carried heavy bags like this all the time. He couldn't imagine Master Hawkeye ever leaving the house for shopping.

"See. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" he said with a grin.

Riza narrowed her eyes at him again, and turned around abruptly, leaving him standing there by himself.

"Hey, wait up!" He hurried down the road after her.

XxX

The words on the page in front of him blurred, and Roy paused, setting the book down for a moment to rub his eyes tiredly. They ached. When he had been busy for too long, exhaustion would set in, and he would need to take a break, whether he had finished what he was doing or not. As enthusiastic as he was about his studies, there were limits to how much could be accomplished in one night, even when one had had a diligent work ethic. But he did not feel he could not stop right now; he was right in the middle of his current task for Master Hawkeye. Perhaps when he was done, he could set his things aside and turn his attention to Riza…

He glanced over at the couch across from him, where Riza sat, reading a book of her own. She wasn't making any effort to speak with him, but she was _there_. She didn't usually hang around like this – especially not when he was busy studying – so it had to mean that she was at least somewhat comfortable around him, didn't it? After earlier, he had expected that she would avoid him completely for a while… Perhaps he was looking into it too deeply. Maybe she just didn't feel like spending all day in her bedroom, or she thought the couch was comfortable. He stared at her, frustrated, as though by doing so he could discern her reason for being there.

As though she could sense his scrutiny, Riza looked up from her book, and met his eyes. Crap. He should probably say something now, to make it seem less odd, shouldn't he? He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't think of anything to say. She stared at him silently for a few more seconds as he sat there with his mouth hanging open, before looking back down at her novel, flipping to the next page casually.

_Great. That wasn't weird at all… _He thought to himself dryly.

He looked down at his own book, and picked it up again, flipping it to the last page he had read. The task Master Hawkeye had set him was to study the composition of the various stones sitting on the table in front of him, and then use that knowledge to transmute them into different shapes. Master Hawkeye had barely let him actually use Alchemy at all since he began studying under him, preferring instead that he learn more of the theory behind it; perhaps if he was successful enough at this attempt, Master would set him more tasks that involved _using_ Alchemy, rather than reading about it.

He picked up his chalk and began writing out the formula on the slate he was using, glancing at his book for reference when he needed to. There were a lot of things to remember when it came to Alchemy, so it certainly helped to have a something to refer to when he required help. He wondered if he would ever be able to remember all this stuff on his own… Master Hawkeye never seemed to have any troubles. Of course, he had many more years of experience than Roy did. Perhaps when _he_ was older, and had more experience, he too would be a skilled Alchemist.

Finished drawing out the circle, Roy sat a chunk of granite in the centre. He glanced over his formula once more to make sure it was correct, before placing his hands on the circle and activating it. He shaped it into the design he had in mind, creating a four-legged form with a long tail. He held up his creation and admired it, checking for any cracks or faults. There were none. He sat it on the table with a satisfied nod. Riza looked up from her book curiously.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

She squinted at the object on the table. "…Is it… a cat?"

"It's a dog," he pouted.

He nearly missed the sceptical expression on her face before it disappeared. "I'm sorry, yes, of course it is."

Despite his hurt he decided not to push the issue, instead placing his creation to one side and picking up a different rock as she returned her attention to her novel. He checked his books carefully, identifying the stone and making alterations in his formula where necessary. He transmuted many different creatures from the stones his master had given him, working diligently as Riza flipped through her book across from him, apparently completely absorbed in it. But every so often, he would see her glance over at him from the corner of her eyes, when she thought he was too busy to notice.

When he was reduced to his final stone, he paused for a moment, turning it over in his fingers thoughtfully as he wondered what to make of it. He looked up at the sound of Riza snapping her book shut.

"Was it good?" he asked her.

"Huh?"

"The book."

"Oh. It was interesting," she replied, sitting the book on the couch beside her.

"What was it about?"

"Aren't you supposed to be busy?" she asked somewhat peevishly.

He held up the remaining rock between two fingers. "Almost done." An idea jumped into his head, and he sat the stone in the circle. A few seconds later, and he sat back with a smug grin. Riza leaned over the table to look.

"It's a bird?"

"A hawk," he amended. "Hawk… Hawkeye… Get it?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly not impressed by his sudden stroke of genius. "A hawk."

"Right. A hawk." He picked up the stone bird and bobbed it up and down in the air, imitating flight.

Her eyes followed the 'flying' bird. "I suppose it _does_ look like one."

"Suppose? I think you need a closer look!" He held the stone bird under her nose and made a harsh cawing sound. She looked at him as if he had grown a second head, but the side of her mouth twitched with a smile. It lasted maybe a second before her expression became serious once more.

"Now that you're done, Mr Mustang, perhaps you should show your work to father," Riza said standing up and retrieving her completed book. "I'm sure he will want to see it." She left the room, and he could hear the echo of her footsteps as she walked up the stairs.

"Yeah, I'm going to do that!" he called after her.

He sat the stone hawk down next to his other creations with a satisfied grin. On top of completing his work, he had also managed to make Riza smile. It had only lasted a second - and perhaps had partly been from exasperation - but it was definitely a smile nonetheless. Now that he thought back on it, this was the first time he had ever seen her smile naturally, without forcing the expression. It warmed him to think that he had done something to bring that out. Perhaps next time, he could do something to make or smile for longer, or even laugh!

With that thought in mind, he sat his work on top of his slate and carried it up to Master Hawkeye, mind already formulating plans, all the while with a smile plastered across his _own_ face.

* * *

**Once again, I apologise for how long this took. But please, won't you review? :3 It makes me happy, and a happy writer is an efficient writer! Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next chapter out a bit sooner than this one, and hopefully, it will also be better than this chapter… ****So, review! Tell me it was good! Tell me it was terrible! Tell me how I can improve! Any sort of feedback is appreciated!**


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